Devil May Cry: Humanity's Requiem
by R.M. VII
Summary: From the snowy climates of Eastern Europe, to the Voodoo infested streets of New Orleans. Dante must face both new and old foes in his quest to finally lay eyes on his father's grave. But he gets caught in a new quest when he meets a mysterious "Demon".
1. Chapter 0 Prolouge

They came in the dozens, horrid legions of the most unimaginable sort. Enough to scare the average man into insanity. But yet the more they came, the faster he would dispatch them. The bodies of demons, once powerful and feared, littered the snowy ground, yet more snow falling to cover them. Their slayer was an expert in his art, utilizing both small knives and a single gun. A gunmetal black 45 caliber pistol, aptly christened "Black Betty".

He was a valiant fighter, displaying as much fighting prowess as he did tenacity. Every stab of his knife was followed by a stiff kick to the corpse, sending it flying into the legion from which it came. When not engaged in close combat he wielded his pistol with immense skill, rarely requiring more than one shot to kill his would-be assailant. His long black hair, which draped over his shoulders, fluttered faintly in the wind with every movement. His icy blue stare scanning the approaching waves of enemies as he slid a hand inside his long black coat, removing a small object which appeared vaguely like a clock.

"Well boys and girls, this has been fun. However, I'm afraid I have bigger and better things to deal with." He grinned, punching a series of numbers into the bizarre object before tossing it into the air.

With a single step he cleanly jumped the thinned wave of demonic attackers, rolling behind a parked pickup truck just as the device, a crude but effective bomb, detonated just inches above the snow ground, killing every last one of the wretched creatures in a fiery explosion which practically incinerated many of its victims.

The triumphant devil hunter jumped out from behind his cover, grinning wildly at his accomplishment. "Yes! That was freaking awesome!"

His celebration was short lived, however, as a rather unsettling grunt alerted him of a looming presence behind him. There, at least two stories tall, covered in brown fur, stood the impressive frame of the ape demon Orangguerra. And it looked angry.

The two stood there for a moment, each looking the other over. One can only speculate as to what the ape was thinking as it stared down the young devil slayer. He stood an impressive six-feet-one-inch tall, long black hair draping over his broad shoulders. His age was difficult to pin down, as he had what would typically be described as a "baby face". But the obvious five-o'clock shadow pushed any question of extreme youth from the mind. And his exact nationality was also hard to pin down. His face was fairly western, but his thick and burly physique seemed fitting to the harsh Eastern European climate. His body strangely uncovered from the cold, wearing only what a westerner might consider to be street clothes for a mild day.

"Well, well, well.. What have we here? A big, ugly ape. And I take it you want a fight. Well.. Michael is my name, killing ugly fuckers like you is my game, but I got to run. What a shame!" Grinned Michael as he turned and ran, but not before firing a single shot, which nailed the beast directly in the eye.

As the beast recoiled in pain, Michael made a hasty escape. Tired and low on ammunition, he wouldn't have stood a chance against the much larger beast. And as much as it hurt his pride to run from a fight, he understood it was better to live to fight another day. After all, in his profession, they would likely meet again.

Michael's swift escape continued toward the safety of his office, which could clearly be seen in the distance. Despite the now heavily falling snow, his progress remained steady. Especially for a man with a body built more for power than speed. So steady, in fact, that he managed to reach his destination in no time at all.

Upon arriving in his small office, he immediately plopped down into a desk chair and rolled over to his makeshift desk, which comprised a stack of milk crates with a piece of plywood on them. Waiting there for him was a delicious pizza which he had carefully made himself just for the occasion.

However, the exhausted devil hunter found only an empty tray and a few scraps of cheese. His expression of anger quickly turned to that of suspicion, as he turned around to scan the room for intruders.

"Sorry. I got hungry while I waited.." Grinned a white haired man clad in a long red coat as he stepped from the shadows.


	2. Chapter 1

Michael nearly jumped out of his skin as the figure stepped from the shadows, his coat swaying with every slow, casual step he took. His mouth curling up into a devilish smile as he withdrew a single handgun, Ivory, from his belt and pointed it directly into Michael's face, which was now contorted in a mix of rage and confusion.

"How ya doin?" He grinned, but cut Michael off before he could respond. "However you're doing, you'll be doing a lot worse unless you tell me what I need to know."

Michael chuckled, discreetly reaching to his belt for his gun. "Well, if it isn't the legendary son of Sparda. Dante, isn't it?"

Dante rolled his eyes and shook the gun in Michael's face, emphasizing its presence. "Are you stupid? Not many people completely ignore the subject when they have a gun in their face, y'know."

"And keep your damn hand where I can see it!" Barked Dante, changing his demeanor.

Forced to admit defeat, in this round at least, Michael raised his hands into the air and stood up. He stepped slowly towards Dante, cracking a small smile for some presently unknown reason which visibly confused Dante, who's face had previously been fixed in a smug grin.

"So what is it that you want to know, Dante?. Inquired Michael. "The meaning of life? The meaning of death? Why the hell you ate my fucking Pizza!?"

"Easy, easy.. I just need to ask you a few non-dinner-related questions. Dante assured him. "First of all, you're beginning to develop a reputation.. A reputation which happens to be infringing on my business. I mean, I still get the high profile cases that you amateurs can't handle, but-"

Michael cut him off, grabbing Dante's hand and forcing the barrel of Ivory to his forehead. "If your plan is to bore me to death by calling me an amateur and making yourself sound great, I'd rather you just shoot me."

Before Dante had a chance to respond Michael had removed the magazine from Ivory and forced it out of his hand, following the action with a stiff kick that doubled him over into a perfect position for a knee strike to the jaw, which sent Dante flying onto his back. Dante spun back to his feet and threw several punches, all of which were blocked by Michael. He then attempted a knee strike, but that was also unsuccessful as Michael jumped back, then returned with a solid right hook.

Dante staggered for a bit before falling to his knees. He had been bested in hand to hand combat in a rather short period of time, but he was in no way ready to give up. He had the knowledge and experience to defeat the young hunter, and he wasn't going to lose his chance.

He sprang up all at once and unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks, forcing Michael to guard himself. He then took the opportunity to grasp his sword, Rebellion, and swing it forward in one fluid motion which gave Michael little to no time to dodge the massive blade's slash.

Michael, however, saw ample time to roll to the side, jumping from the jowls of certain death. He rolled straight to an old, ornate sword rack from which he pulled an ancient weapon he had recently bought, but had yet to use. Unsheathing it quickly, he charged Dante, who had already begun a vicious charge towards him.

The charge seemed to last forever, both combatants' faces fixed with an intensity few can comprehend. Their swords piecing the air as they raised them to strike. It had been centuries since two warriors so equally powerful had met in combat. Since the days of Sparda.

Their swords met in a clash of iron, colliding with such a force that papers and other light objects went flying in all directions. Neither fight gave up an inch of ground, struggling with all their might to force the other back even a step. Michael conceded and stepped back, but forced Dante's blade aside. He swung his blade again for Dante but, was parried. Again he swung, but was parried. Dante had at last found his weakness. An expert in marksmanship, hand to hand combat, and small knives. But an amateur swordsman.

Dante unleashed a furious barrage of strikes, which Michael barely managed to parry before retreating away to regroup. But Dante would have none of it, charging him wildly, slashing at Michael's side at a speed which he could not compete with, and creating a deep gash in the young hunter's side.

"Ugh!" Michael grunted, gripping his side as he dropped to his knees and doubled over.

Dante grinned, planting his sword in the floor and grabbing Michael's. "A nice blade you've got yourself here. Good craftsmanship, evenly distributed weight, comfortable handle.. Hell, its even got some kind of fancy hieroglyphics carved into it.. Shame its in the hands of someone who can't properly wield it."

"Then again, I would expect no less from an amateur.. Good night." He laughed before plunging the sword into Michael's back.

Satisfied with his work, Dante took an interest in snooping around the small office. It was for the most part unfurnished, containing mostly improvised desks made from plywood and milk crates. Its only real furniture being Michael's desk chair and a small couch with a faint smell that made Dante chuckle and mumble something about women.

On the east wall was an old bookshelf containing mostly occult tomes. One of which caught Dante's eye, and he seemingly couldn't avert his gaze from the book. He removed it from the shelf and brushed the faint layer of dust from its cover, reading aloud the title, "Necronomicon". He gazed for a moment at the old, worn book before stuffing it into his coat and continuing on towards the singular hallway on the north, glancing for a second at Michael's lifeless body, half anticipating movement. But alas, all was calm.

The hallway was completely devoid of anything interesting, save for three doors. One of which was nothing more than a broom closet. The second lead to am extremely cramped bedroom containing nothing more than a cot and bed side table. The last room however, was the payload. A full arsenal of weapons. From submachine guns to shot guns, from daggers to axes, any weapon the heart could desire was in this room. From the gun rack, to the swords hung on the walls, to the work bench where various crude explosives lay, this was the ultimate armory.

"This is nice.." Dante smiled smugly, grabbing several small explosives and stuffing them into his coat.

However, an unusual noise in the main room cut short his gleeful thieving. He walked calmly back out of the room and down the hall, trying to shake the weird feeling he was beginning to develop at the sounds he was hearing.

But when he returned to the main room, it took all he had to keep from visibly displaying his surprise at what he saw. There in front of him, with a sword piercing his back, was Michael. Rebellion in hand. His eyes seemed to glow a deep blue, as did his entire body. This wasn't a human Dante was dealing with, but this certainly wasn't a demon.

Without a word, he thrust Rebellion straight for Dante. And as the sword pierced through the air, seemingly destined to hit it's target, all Dante could do was stare into those deep, inhuman eyes.


End file.
